


sugar drops

by genyorins



Series: abi's fluff stash [1]
Category: Goyo: Ang Batang Heneral (2018), Heneral Luna (2015)
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, M/M, Married Couple, Not Beta'd, but not about ruscoven, mainly about paco and luna huhuhu, post-goyo, post-henlu, ruscoven, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 19:29:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16352801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genyorins/pseuds/genyorins
Summary: ruscoven being fluffy, married, and domestic. :D





	sugar drops

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ligaya Camaclang (flowerific_12)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerific_12/gifts).



Glimpses of the Hernando-Rusca homestead frequently commentate on the neatly arranged rows of fruit trees and the plump red tomatoes that Eduardo Rusca offered passing guests. The building, a bahay na bato, was kept sufficiently tidy, and Joven Hernando, Eduardo’s husband, would tell elaborate accounts that he accumulated during the war. The accompaniment of such stories with a steaming bowl of champorado on the weekends and an ensaymada on weekdays saw the pair woven into the town’s mythos through the generations. Eduardo Rusca was a valiant man whose eyes tended to glaze at the town’s resounding church bells; Joven was an author who wrote prolifically, articles as numerous as the calluses on his hardened hands. 

Joven smiled against Rusca’s chest, waking the latter up. Rusca rolled towards his husband, causing the depression in his pillow to deepen. Gentle rain pattered against the roof and deafened on impact with the soft soil.   
“Good morning,” Joven softly told Rusca. “Did you manage to harvest the string beans yesterday?”  
“Of course,” Rusca replied, sleep jumbling his words, “I’ve already cut up some pumpkins.”   
Joven stood up and closed the windows. Rusca calmly sat up and watched Joven with soft adoration. He felt the urge to kiss him, to feel the softness of Joven’s lips against his own, his eyelids closed against the cool metal of his eyeglasses. He followed Joven down the hallway and into the small kitchen that they possessed. Turning on the radio, he watched Joven close his eyes as he rocked back and forth with the music. Pots and pans reflected the years of their union to Rusca. His eyes were weary, the edges of his lips forming trenches- 

A small laugh escaped his lips and the wrinkles that furrowed at Joven’s forehead told him that he understood. 

Joven edged towards him, pecking at his forehead, his hair, and finally, his lips. Rusca felt as if every bone in his weary body was renewed with ones imbued with youthful energy, the era that marked his enthrallment with the journalist. Joven, in his perpetual wish to accompany a notion and an idea, clung on to Rusca. He wanted to run from the noise of the city. Rusca wanted an unfamiliar semblance of safety that he’d lost ever since he’d felt his heart pound in time with the spray of bullets that killed Paco and Luna. Joven felt like home.


End file.
